


Less Than Lucky

by KezzaG



Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James
Genre: Disfigurement, F/M, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Miscarriage, Original Universe, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Severe Injury, Trauma, Travel, spoilers from book three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KezzaG/pseuds/KezzaG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So much of the outcome of the Jack Hyde incident in Fifty Shades Freed was based on sheer luck. What if things hadn't lined up so happily for the Greys in the end? No pretty bow to wrap up the end of the trilogy in this alternate ending about loss, hope, and rebuilding after tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story begins in Fifty Shades Freed, chapter 22. There is a bit of lead-in from the original book to help orient you. The horizontal rule is the start of my original content.

## Chapter 22

### A Change of Fate

"Get out," Elizabeth snaps, yanking the rear passenger door open.

Shit. As I clamber out, my legs are shaking so hard I wonder if I can stand. The cool late afternoon breeze carries the scent of the coming fall and the chalky, dusty smell of derelict buildings.

"Well, lookee here." Jack emerges from a small, boarded-up doorway on the left of the building. His hair is short. He's removed his earrings and he's wearing a suit.  _A suit?_  He ambles toward me, oozing arrogance and hate. My heart rate spikes.

"Where's Mia?" I stammer, my mouth so dry I can hardly form the words.

"First things first, bitch," Jack sneers, coming to a halt in front of me. I can practically taste his contempt. "The money?"

Elizabeth is checking the bags in the trunk. "There's a hell of a lot of cash here," she says in awe, zipping and unzipping each bag.

"And her cell?"

"In the trash."

"Good," Jack snarls, and from nowhere he lashes out, backhanding me hard across the face. The ferocious, unprovoked blow knocks me to the ground, and my head bounces with a sickening thud off the concrete. Pain explodes in my head, my eyes fill with tears, and my vision blurs as the shock of the impact resonates, unleashing agony that pulses through my skull.

I scream a silent cry of suffering and shocked terror. Oh no —  _Little Blip_. Jack follows through with a swift, vicious kick to my ribs, and my breath is blasted from my lungs by the force of the blow. Scrunching my eyes tightly, I try to fight the nausea and pain, to fight for a precious breath.  _Little Blip, Little Blip, oh my Little Blip_ —

"That's for SIP, you fucking bitch!" Jack screams.

I pull my legs up, huddling into a ball and anticipating the next blow.  _No. No. No._

"Jack!" Elizabeth screeches. "Not here. Not in broad daylight for fuck's sake!"

He pauses.

"The bitch deserves it!" he gloats to Elizabeth. And it gives me one precious second to reach around and pull the gun from the waistband of my jeans. Shakily, I aim at him, squeeze the trigger, and fire.

* * *

"Jesus!" I hear Elizabeth hazily.

I blink. Did it connect? Did I hit him? I guess not, he's advancing on me. I fire a second shot, and another, this one grazes his leg and he winces, slowing momentarily.

Elizabeth is screaming, or is it me. I can't see anymore, my vision is black and everything I feel is pain. I can't hear the screams. There's no sense anymore except the pain, so I let myself drift towards oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

## Chapter 23

### Questions

All I hear around me is mechanical, electronic. Whirring, beeping... But then I hear so faintly, so tiny — I hear weeping. What could that be? I can’t feel anything to know where I am, what’s happened. The weeping is so soft and hopeless. It fills me with so much sadness, I retreat from it. I drift back into my nothingness — It can’t possibly be worse than this weeping.

* * *

Slowly, I feel as if I’m floating towards consciousness. I hear the whirring, the beeping... then voices. Christian’s voice. I try to reach out for him, but I can’t move my arms. I can’t feel my arms.

“Just do it again!” He’s so angry, so furious, but I sense a complete lack of hope. He was the one weeping before. It seems so long ago, did it really happen?

“Mr. Grey, I’m sorry, but the test is conclusive. Your wife has lost the baby,” I hear in reply.

Little Blip! How could this be? No. No. No. No!

Christian is sobbing, “Please! Please. Just do it again. I can’t...” He’s pleading with the doctor. But, he didn’t want this baby, did he?

The doctor sighs. “I can do it again, Mr. Grey, but it won’t be any different. There’s no heartbeat.”

“Just come back to me, Anastasia. Come back. I can’t do this without you. Come back to me.”

Oh, I so want to hold him and make it better, but I can’t face this. I need my blip. Blip. Where’s my Blip?

I search inside myself for Little Blip, leaving Christian on his own again.

* * *

All I feel is devastation. Everything about me is pain — my body, my head, my emotions, my memories. There’s nothing there. There’s no Blip. There’s nothing.

No more weeping. But I can still sense Christian’s pain. There’s that. I want to make it better. I want to tell him it will be alright. But that’s just it — it won’t be. 

I hear Grace’s voice. “Christian, you should get some rest. There’s nothing you can do right now,” she says.

“Just go.” I have never heard Christian so cold, so empty. I can feel him squeezing my hand. His voice is muffled, like he’s speaking into the blanket.

“Christian,” she pleads.

“Go. I can’t... I can’t leave her.”

There’s a long pause. I hear her kiss him and then her footsteps as she leaves.

“Ana, I love you. Don’t leave me.”

I struggle to stay with him but feel myself tugged back into the black.

* * *

I blink. Everything is white. Too white. I can’t see anything but brightness and it’s overwhelming my eyes. I close them hard, hoping the light might fade with a few second’s time.

Tentatively, I open my eyes again, and slowly, they begin to adjust. Everything is definitely bright, white, and shiny, but not nearly as painful to look at as it was. I go to turn my head but find that to be so tender that I nearly scream in pain, which draws my attention to the tube in my throat. I start to panic. The beeping and the whirring are so loud, so fast. My breath becomes hurried and I try to grab at it, to pull it out, but I can’t move one of my arms. I hear footsteps running toward me and a nurse, all in white grabs my flailing arm and holds it down. She’s trying to calm me down, but I’m in full freak-out mode and can’t stop.

Suddenly, Christian’s face enters my view and I instantly relax. He’s been holding my hand — I can feel that now — and he is gently stroking my cheek, whispering to me, “I’m here. I’m here.”

I whimper and feel tears prick my eyes. I’m so overwhelmed by sensation and emotion and I can see clearly that he’s been crying. He has a beard and looks like he’s aged about three years.

“I love you, baby. Thank you for coming back to me.”

I half-remember him calling for me, but it’s a quickly-fading dream and as much as I try to grasp onto it, it slips through my fingers. I’m so happy to see him.

The nurse releases me and I try to lift my now-free arm to touch him, but it is so painful and I feel so weak. Christian registers my distress and turns to the nurse, “Can we take this tube out? I think she’s trying to say something.”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” she says and runs out the door.

I furrow my eyebrows and Christian takes my other hand in his. He runs his thumbs over my knuckles and kisses my nose very gently. It feels bizarre, like he didn’t really touch me and I probe my mind to do a system’s check on how my body feels. My entire face feels horrendous, my throat feels so full and painful, like I haven’t had a drink of water in months. Each breath brings a dull pain to my left side and a sharp one to my right, below my breast. I can’t wiggle my left leg and look down to see  it’s in a cast up to my thigh. My right leg seems relatively fine, though my hip feels horribly bruised. But it’s my stomach — my stomach feels the worst. It feels so empty. The word _barren_ comes to mine and I can feel the tears streaming down my face in earnest.

Christian just holds my hands, looking into my eyes, and smiles the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. My heart breaks and I want to kiss him so badly.

The doctor walks in with a big smile. He’s a short, middle-aged bald man, and seems like the sort of doctor I’d imagine on a medical drama — a trustworthy-looking man.

“Glad to see you awake, Mrs. Grey,” he says. He looks at my chart and at the monitors strewn around my bed before smiling again at me. “I bet you’re ready to have that tube out of your throat.”

I nod slowly, careful not to move to suddenly. Surprisingly, I find it doesn’t hurt much.

“Alright, on the count of three I want you to take a deep breath and then cough for as long as you can. It’s going to be very uncomfortable, but you’ll feel better in just a moment.” He moves around to my left side and puts a gloved hand on the tube coming out of my mouth. Christian squeezes my hand for reassurance. “One, two, three... cough!”

He was right, it’s very uncomfortable, but he pulls the tube out quickly and the nurse hands me a cup of water, which I take greedily and gulp. The cold water is soothing on my throat.

“You did great.” Christian smiles at me and then at the doctor.

“I’m Dr. Crumfeld, Mrs. Grey. I’m going to ask you a few questions. Be very gentle as you try to speak. You can keep your answers to one or two words, okay?” I nod. I smile at Christian, who looks encouragingly at me. He still looks so sad, it makes me want to cry again.

“Do you know where you are, Mrs. Grey?” the doctor asks.

“Hospital,” I croak. He smiles. 

“Yes, very good. Do you remember what happened?”

This is a harder question. I can’t quite reach my memory yet and then it snaps back into place. My eyebrows shoot up and I turn to Christian, “Mia! Did you find...” I start coughing and the nurse hands me my water cup again.

Christian nods, “Don’t worry, we found her. She’s safe.” He smiles that sweet, sad smile again. I know something isn’t right.

The doctor tries to get my attention again. “Mrs Grey, please try to focus on these questions. They’re very important. Do you remember what happened?”

I nod slowly, but I can’t remember everything clearly, so I stop. “Not every...” I stop before I have another coughing fit. Christian strokes my hair with strong hands and I calm. “Not everything. It’s blurry,” I say slowly.

The doctor gets a serious look and makes a note on my chart. “What’s the last thing you remember, Mrs. Grey?”

I think. There was the car ride with Elizabeth... and then...

“Jack Hyde! It was Jack Hyde!” I screech. I sound like a banshee. I look over to Christian and his nostrils flare. He is so beyond pissed. He looks antsy to do something, but stays put. I’m sure it’s to comfort me.

The doctor turns to the nurse and asks her to go get Detective Clark. She hurries out of the room and I look at Christian again, puzzled.

“But, I shot him,” I say. How do they not know it was Jack Hyde?

Christian frowns and it makes me so sad. “You didn’t shoot him, Ana.” He looks at our hands. Something is wrong. He begins to cry.

I look to the doctor for answers, but he just looks back at me grimly. “Let’s get back to these questions, shall we? Do you know today’s date?”

I think. Mia was taken September 15. I look at my husband’s beard and I realize that I have not a clue how much time has passed. I shake my head at the doctor. “No, I don’t.”

He frowns and makes a note. “It’s September 26.”

Jeez! I’ve been out for eleven days?! I can’t believe it. Christian’s sobs are audible now and I can see he’s become a ghost of himself waiting for me to wake up. I touch his face gently and wince as I lift my arm. I want to hold him, but that is definitely not going to happen soon.

“Oh Christian,” I say. He looks up at me, desperate.

“I’m glad you’re awake, Mrs. Grey,” Detective Clark says as he walks through the doorway to my room. “I have some questions for you.”

Why does it seem like everyone has questions for me but nobody has answers for me? 


	3. Answers

Chapter 24 ––––––––––  
Answers

  
Christian jumps to his feet, never letting go of my hand. “She needs to rest, can’t this wait?” he roars. Talk about mercurial. What a mood shift.

Detective Clark ignores him, coming around to the other side of my bed and pushing the doctor out of the way. “No, it can’t, Mr. Grey.” He is all business and I can clearly see that he hasn’t slept in days. “Mrs. Grey, I need you to tell me what you remember about your attacker.”

I blink back at him. I look over to Christian, who is fuming. I can practically smell the smoke coming out of his ears. I squeeze his hand and he looks down at me. “It’s okay, Christian,” I say and he quells slightly. Turning back to the detective, I say, “It was Jack Hyde, my old boss at SIP. Elizabeth Morgan was working with him, but I think he was blackmailing her or something.”

Clark looks at Christian and their eyes meet. There’s some information passing between them and I have no idea what it is. This whole being out of the loop thing is getting irritating quickly.  
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” I croak. I had intended to yell but I sound more like a toad than anything else.

And that’s it. The doctor, the detective, the husband: they all look at me with pity.

Christian sits down slowly and his tears pour down his face in parallel rivers on his cheeks. I feel them drip onto my skin as he lifts my had to his mouth and kisses it.

“You were beaten very badly, Ana.” I try to smile. Oh God, does it hurt to do that!

“I know that much. I can feel it, Christian.”

“Well, you hit your head very hard and so they think your vision wasn’t very good when you fired the gun. You didn’t hit Jack.”

No. No, that’s not right, I remember him stumbling. I hit him with the third bullet.

Christian answers my unasked question, “The first bullet hit Elizabeth in the chest. She died on the way to the hospital. The third bullet wound up lodged in a brick wall.” He stops.

My fear is really getting the best of me. What happened to the second bullet?

Christian’s tears are flowing freely and I stop breathing.

“The second one hit Mia.”

My thoughts start spiraling. My vision greys and I feel dizzy. I can feel my grip on consciousness slipping and I give up.  
￼

* * *

I wake up to screaming. I’m so scared and confused that I don’t realize at first that it’s me who’s screaming. Christian comes running in from the hallway, a look of total distress etching his features.

“Baby, I’m here. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.” He cradles me in his arms and I calm. I’m shaking all over. He kisses my forehead and rocks me back and forth and I close my eyes, inhaling his scent. I am vaguely aware of a nurse or a doctor checking my tubes, my monitors, my chart, but I don’t care. All that matters in my world is that Christian’s presence, reassuring me.  
He looks down at me, concerned, and I nod to let him know I’m better. He helps me sit up in bed. I am feeling slightly less sore and suddenly am famished. I feel like I haven’t eaten in weeks — I realize I probably haven’t.

“I’m hungry,” I say and I watch as a huge smile spreads across Christian’s face.

Without taking his eyes off me, he grabs his phone and hits a speed dial. “Taylor, yes, can you go by Escala and have Mrs. Jones prepare some broth and toast for Mrs. Grey?” He hangs up without waiting for a reply.

I finally take a moment to look around the room. Humongous bouquets of flowers fill every horizontal surface I can see. There’s a giant Charlie Tango balloon at the foot of my bed and I grin.

Looking at the foot of my bed, I notice that my left leg, the one in the cast, is in traction, elevated above my hip which would explain why I couldn’t move at all earlier when I tried. My upper abdomen itches and I move my hand across my torso to discover bandages underneath my hospital gown. My eyebrows furrow as I’m trying to understand what has happened. I look to Christian for answers.

“They had to take out your spleen,” he whispers. I can tell he’s right on the edge of sobbing as his expressions softens and saddens. “There was a lot of damage to your lungs, and one of your kidneys, too, but they’re hoping that heals on its own.” He’s barely holding it together so I smile to reassure him. It must not be a very convincing smile because his breath hitches as he tries to compose himself. “You have three broken ribs, a broken femur, dislocated hip, and a pelvic fracture.” He looks so desperate and it’s making me so worried. Something — something important. I’m trying to remember what was so important but my brain is hazy and I can’t quite get ahead of the conversation. “You had a concussion when they brought you in so they induced a coma so your body could heal and the swelling around your brain could go down safely. Your nose is broken, as is your left cheekbone, and there’s a small hairline fracture near the base of your head.” He’s really trying to hold it together and I guess my scared and awed expression isn’t helping him do that.

“What about...” Damn, what was it I had to ask him about. I stop and think really hard. It’s almost like it hurts to think this hard. I give up for a moment and take a deep breath.

“They’ve got you on some pretty strong painkillers and sedatives. The doctors don’t want you getting as upset as you did earlier because they’re worried the stress will hurt your recovery, so you may have trouble thinking straight for a while.”

I nod. I was so clear before. And this was so important... What was it?

Christian closes his eyes and puts his hand at the bottom of my stomach, spreading his hand wide. He leans over and kisses me there, sending an electric spark to my brain. Blip!

“The baby?” I can barely form the words as I feel my heart jump into my throat.

He lays his head on abdomen and totally loses any control he had over his expression, tears streaming onto my tummy as his face distorts in pain.

“I’m so sorry, Ana,” he whispers. He sits up and pulls my body against to his, sobbing. I hear myself wail and I beat my arms on his shoulders with what little strength I have. He doesn’t flinch and just grips me gently.

“I’m so sorry, Ana. I’m so sorry,” he whispers in my ear over and over again. I eventually run out of steam entirely and just fall asleep in his arms.  
￼

* * *

I wake the next day feeling numb. None of the pain is reaching my brain anymore and all I feel is a profound sense of loss. I touch my stomach and cry. I’m alone and glad for it. Christian didn’t want this baby and now he has his wish. I can’t help but feel bitter resentment that he was so cruel and didn’t love it before my Little Blip disappeared.

Looking up, I see Grace watching me, unreadable by the door. I try to perk myself up, and I’m sure she sees the effort because she walks in and sits next to my bed.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, both crying softly. I’m mourning the loss of the child I didn’t even have yet. She’s worried about her own daughter, surely.

Finally, I wipe my eyes and speak with my tiny, unstable voice, “How is Mia?” I realize I’m terrified what I might have done to her and a sense of intense guilt washes over me. My idiocy put Mia, Blip, and me in incredible danger. How could I have taken that kind of a risk?

Grace gives me a weak smile, “She’s awake and doing a lot better. Christian’s with her now. They’re going to take her off the respirator this evening and if she breathes on her own, that’s a really good sign.” She gauges my reaction for a moment. “Thank you, Anastasia.”

I blanch. Why is she thanking me? I wonder. I shot her daughter.

“You were so brave and you saved my daughter. I can never repay you for that,” she says quietly, wringing her hands. “And you took such a personal risk for it, such a loss.” She looks up and grasps my hand. “I’m sorry about the baby, Ana.”

I can’t keep myself together and the waterworks start again.

“But, I shot her! I am so sorry, Grace. You have to forgive me,” I sob.

She pulls me into a soft embrace, stroking my face. “Don’t you worry about that. If she wasn’t found when she was, Lord knows what would have happened. She already had terrible injuries before the shot. If you hadn’t gone to rescue her, she would probably be dead.”

I still my breathing and sit back. Maybe Grace can give me some answers. I’m so desperate for information.

“Can I ask you about what happened? No one will tell me straight.”

“Of course, dear,” she sighs. Maybe she feels steeled with a sense of purpose, but she does seem more stable and calmer as she adjusts herself in the chair and starts to explain.

“You fired the gun three times: the first got Elizabeth Morgan in the chest and she died; the second hit Mia in the abdomen, damaging her right lung, but missing all her other organs; and the third missed and hit a wall. Jack Hyde then took the gun, beat you further, and made a getaway in the car. Sawyer, Taylor, and Christian found you a few minutes later while the police were working on tracking the cell phone you’d left in one of the bags, but Hyde found it a few blocks away and tossed it. He made a fairly clean escape.”

I can feel the panic rising in my chest — he’s still out there! What if he comes back to finish what he started?

Grace can see my agitation and takes my hand in hers for reassurance. “Seattle PD has posted cops all over the hospital, including outside your and Mia’s doors. You’re safe. He can’t get to you now.” She smiles. “If you hadn’t woken up when you did, the police wouldn’t know who they were looking for until they realized he’d skipped bail.

I smile back her but there’s no conviction in it.

“You’re job now is to recuperate. You have to heal up nice and quickly so Christian doesn’t have a coronary from the stress,” she says, smiling. “I really can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for this family. You’ve saved my daughter, you’ve given my son his life back. You’re an angel from heaven.”

She stands up, planting a loving kiss on the top of my head.

“He hasn’t left your bedside in two weeks. He’s been so worried about you.”

I think about Christian and feel so confused. I love him so much but I loved Blip, too, and now that part of me, that part of Christian is gone. My hand automatically goes to that empty place.

“He is so happy you’re okay, but he’s devastated about losing the baby. I don’t know that he’ll ever forgive himself for not telling you he was happy about the baby.” She starts to walk out, then stops and turns, “I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive him for it, either, Ana.” She smiles and leaves.


	4. Approval

Chapter 26

Absolution

 

I hobble. I don’t walk, I don’t limp. I hobble. It is a devastating reality, but I can’t change anything about it. Sure, Christian has offered to carry me everywhere until I’m healed, but we both know I have to get into the habit of at least hobbling so that I have strength when I am finally healed.

So, I hobble down the hallway towards Mia’s room. Christian follows behind me by a couple feet. He does this because the very first day he hovered and I yelled at him that he was on the verge of smothering me. He took the hint but still stays close enough to catch me if I fall, which is incredibly reassuring.

“Turn left here, third door on the right,” he says. Okay, it’s reality time, here. I take a deep breath just before I reach the doorway and nod to the police officers stationed outside, preparing myself for whatever I might find inside.

I look to Christian for reassurance and hob the last hobble before stopping dead in my tracks.

I don’t know what I’d expected — maybe a smiling, weak Mia with hair tousled just so, no makeup, and a bad headache? I am so not ready for this. Mia has one arm in traction, tubes coming out every which way, and her entire midsection is wrapped and wrapped in gauze. She looks barely more than a skeleton and I feel the tears building behind my eyes.

“Breathe,” Christian whispers in my ear, putting his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. I gasp for air, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. The sound grabs Mia’s attention and she turns her head painfully to look at us. Her mood changes immediately and I can see she’s genuinely pleased we’ve come to visit. I see concern etch her face but she keeps that smile plastered on, god bless her.

I look at Christian meaningfully and he helps me hobble, my strength suddenly gone, over to Mia’s bedside.

“Hey, honey,” I say. I can’t tell where to touch her, everything seems bruised or broken, so I settle on putting my hands on her pillow, next to her cheek. Christian remains a sentinel behind me, smiling down at his little sister.

“I’m sorry, Ana,” she says and I watch her melt into a tiny puddle of tears.

“Shh, don’t think of it.” I smile gently at her. In what universe should she be apologizing to me?

“None of this would have happened if I’d taken Christian’s warning more seriously.” She looks up at her brother, totally sheepish and completely non-Mia-like. To his credit, even though I’m sure Christian is beyond mad at her recklessness, he can’t bring himself to show her anything but complete kindness.

I smile and grab her attention once more. “None of us took it seriously enough. You can’t hold yourself responsible. You’ll only drive yourself insane that way.”  
Christian leans down. “You should take your own advice, Mrs. Grey,” he says quietly in my ear.

I know he’s right, but brush it off for the moment. Delay. Today, I’m dealing with my guilt about shooting Mia. I can’t deal with the rest of the guilt yet. That’s a project for tomorrow or the day after. One thing at a time.

“How are you feeling, Mia?” I ask quietly.

She considers the question seriously, weighing her aches and pains. I think this incident has done a lot to mature her. “I’m not as weak as I was and breathing has gotten much easier, thankfully.” She smiles again at me. “I’m doing pretty damn well considering I’ve been drugged, beaten to hell, and shot.” I can’t help but smile back.

“About that...” I start.

She cuts me off. “Detective Clark told me about the gun, Ana. I don’t even want your apology, so please don’t insult me by making it. I was the reason you were there in the first place. I’m the reason you needed to have the gun. You were so hurt trying to save me that you couldn’t aim correctly. Please. Don’t apologize. It will just make me feel like shit.”

I consider her speech. This is exactly how I’ve felt each time someone has tried to apologize to me. I decide that honoring her request is the adult thing to do. Forgiveness in this case is already granted and asking for further absolution is selfish. I smile.

“Alright, Mia. As you wish. I won’t. But I don’t want to hear another ‘sorry’ out of your mouth, either. Agreed?”

She smiles brightly, and honestly it looks a bit painful. “Agreed.”

We both giggle easily and Christian beams at us both.

“Alright, ladies. This is quite enough excitement for you both. Mia, you should rest — get some sleep. Mrs. Grey, may I have your permission to carry you back to your room? I don’t want you overexerting yourself on the way back.”

I nod gracefully and we say our goodbyes to Mia as Christian lifts me into his arms, leaving my crutches by Mia’s bedside. “I’ll come back for those later,” he whispers.  
The whole way back to our room (as I’ve started calling it — Christian barely ever leaves), our eyes are locked on each other’s. We crawl into bed and snuggle together, telling one another tiny secrets until we’re soundly asleep.


	5. Homeward

Chapter 27  
Homeward

  
I finally get discharged from the hospital today. I’m so glad to be going home, but part of me is worried about spending so much time with Christian, unable to really touch him. We can’t even have any vanilla for another three weeks. It’s going to be three weeks from hell.

Yesterday, I asked him if he’d seen Dr. Flynn since the incident. He frowned, said he’d talked to John every day and I was completely baffled where he found the time.

“I think you should start seeing him,” Christian suddenly blurted out.

I shook my head slowly at him, “I’m fine. I don’t need the great highway robber to analyze me,” I replied, but he really wasn’t having it.

“You’re just postponing the inevitable, Ana. You’re going to have to deal with everything eventually and I’m worried that the longer you put it off, the worse it’ll be when you finally confront it.”

I frown at the memory. Today’s supposed to be happy. I’m going home and tomorrow my mother gets into town so she can be my nursemaid and Christian can start going to work again.

You’d think he would need to go to work at least once a month or something — being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company. But he just keeps saying that it can all wait. I can’t help thinking of the Taiwan trip he was about to leave for when the whole thing happened. I hope Ros was able to handle it all without him.

I’m glad today’s Wednesday so he’ll work Friday and then we can have the weekend. This way we can ease back into our old routine.

I have my bag packed, I’m fully dressed in a knee-length blue a-line skirt and white blouse, thanks largely to the ministrations of my lovely, dear husband — I haven’t quite mastered putting on my own bra yet and reaching around my cast is a harrowing prospect. Christian is saying his goodbyes to Mia while I wait for the doctor to sign off on my chart. I’m ready.

Knowing that Jack Hyde is still out there, wherever he is, scares the crap out of me, but I think it is enough to drive Christian over the edge. He’s doubled my security detail and has beefed up the systems back at Escala — including a secret entrance to the panic room from our bedroom. I hope to hell we never have need of any of it and that Hyde is content to stay on his tropical island of choice with his five million dollars for the rest of his miserable life. And I hope that he gets terrible allergies and it rains all the time. Maybe malaria, too.

See? I’m dealing. I’m stable. I’m not ignoring my problems, merely prioritizing all the shit to be dealt with in an organized and timely manner. My subconscious stares down my Problems and calls out, Single file, please. No pushing!

Dr. Crumfeld comes in and closes the door. I look at him quizzically. He’s never shut the door before. “Would you like to wait for Mr. Grey before we start the discharge exam?” he asks.

“Oh, no, that’s alright. I’d like to be ready to go as soon as he gets back, thanks.” I smile at him.

He checks all my vitals one last time, nodding approvingly at my blood pressure, my heart rate... Then he stops what he’s doing and sits on the edge of the chair with a somber expression.

This does not bode well.

“Mrs. Grey, what kinds of follow-up appointments do you have scheduled so far?” he asks. Okay, this seems like a straight-forward enough question.

“I’m seeing my gynecologist this coming Tuesday, my internist next week, the surgeon wants to do a follow-up in two weeks to check my wound, and I’m getting the cast off with the orthopedist two weeks from Thursday.”

“Is that all?”

I think for a moment. “Yes, I believe so.”

He sighs. “I would like you to see a mental health professional of some sort — it doesn’t have to be a psychiatrist or a psychoanalyst. It could be a women’s mental health caregiver or a social worker. I just want to make sure you have someone to talk to about all that’s happened recently.”

“I have my husband to talk to, Dr. Crumfeld.”

He shakes his head. “No, you need to have more than that. Sometimes those closest to us are the most difficult to be honest with about how we really feel deep inside.”

Okay, now he’s starting to piss me off. “Dr. Crumfeld, there is nothing wrong with me and I am not ‘damaged’. I don’t need to be fixed. I am dealing with all this and that’s fine.”

He flounders. “Maybe I should talk to your husband about this,” he starts.

“Dr. Crumfeld, I’m trusting you won’t violate the doctor-patient confidentiality here by discussing this with my husband. If you did, I’m afraid I’d have to see to it that you lost your license quite swiftly.” I hear the words coming out of my mouth before I’m fully aware of the threat I’m making. I’m freaking scary! My subconscious high fives my inner bitch.

He blanches. “I understand, Mrs. Grey” he murmurs just as Christian comes bounding in with a stupid grin on his face. I match my face to his and practically leap off the bed.

“That’s it, I’m ready!” I turn to Dr. Crumfeld one last time. “Am I free to go, doctor? Or is there something else?”

Poor guy just nods and hands me my prescriptions before grabbing my chart and leaving the room.

Christian picks me up in his arms, and I feel so relieved to be rid of this place. It’s nothing more than a reminder of all the bad things that have happened. Now I can go home and forget all about it.  
￼

* * *

  
I sit in bed on Friday, reading manuscript after manuscript, reveling in the other worlds of these books. I forget how much I miss my husband and drift away into the current book, a story about teenagers falling in love despite the odds, et cetera, et cetera.

“It’s time for your pill,” my mother practically sings as she scurries into our bedroom. She’s carrying a huge glass of orange juice and what seems like an even bigger pink antibiotic pill. At least you don’t have a gag reflex, my husband’s words skip through my brain, tugging delightfully at my happy place as I blush crimson and take the pill from my mother’s hand.

“It must be some steamy novel, Ana, to make you blush like that,” my mother jokes as I chug down my juice. “I think the last time I saw you that pink was when I caught you making out with Bradley in the 10th grade.” I sputter, but finish the glass in one go.

She sits next to me on our huge king bed. Her look turns sober for a moment.

“How are you dealing with everything, Ana?” Damn, why does everyone keep asking me that?

“Everything is totally fine!” I snap back at her. It was a more forceful reply than I’d intended and she narrows her eyes.

“Don’t you sass me, young lady. I’m your mother.”

I exhale loudly. If Christian were here, that’d be enough to earn me a good spanking. My insides tighten at the thought and I blush crimson again. “Sorry, Mom. It’s just everybody keeps asking me that and I don’t know how to prove to everyone that nothing’s wrong.”

She pulls me into a great big bear hug and I close my eyes and hug her back, feeling warm and at ease. She says quietly in my ear, “You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

I nod sullenly and pull back from the hug.

“I have to get back to work, Mom. Thanks for taking care of me.” I smile brightly at her as she takes my empty glass and heads towards the kitchen.

Alone at last, I burrow deeper under the covers and sink into my manuscript, where no one gets kidnapped, shot, blackmailed, or pregnant.


	6. Future Plans

Chapter 28  
Future Plans

  
Saturday night, Kate and Elliot come over for dinner and I’m so pleased to have everyone together. It’s so relaxed and I feel like everything is going to be just fine.

Grace gave me the go-ahead for a bit of wine yesterday, so I get Kate to pour me a glass and nurse that sucker for the whole night. If it’s all I get, I want to make it last.

My mother has decided to let herself go, though, and is on her fourth glass by dessert. She’s a happy drunk, but I worry about how Christian will react. I know he hates drunks.

“So, Elliot,” she slurs lazily. “Tell me about this Barbie Dream House you’re building my daughter.”

We all smile. What an apt description. Apart from the utter lack of the color pink, it is so much like a Barbie Dream House, with one side of it open — those huge floor-to-ceiling windows — I’m surprised none of us thought of it before.

“Actually, it’s almost done, Carla. Maybe we can all go visit it tomorrow,” Elliot says.

“Ooh! I’ve been dying to see it,” Kate immediately offers.

Christian shoots them each a menacing look and Elliot stutters.

“Th... That is, if you’re feeling up to it, Ana,” he adds quickly.

I look to Christian. I know he’s nervous about security, but he’s being overcautious about my mobility. I scowl at him. He discreetly itches the palm of his left hand with his right. Twitchy-palmed control freak. I smile back at Elliot, “I think it’s a great idea. Maybe we can bring a picnic. How does that sound?”

Everyone agrees and we finish our dessert without further incident.

After saying goodnight to Kate, Elliot, their three armed escorts, and my mother, Christian picks me up and carries me slowly to our bedroom. “What am I going to do with you, Mrs. Grey,” he murmurs and I feel myself heating from the inside. My inner goddess lazily raises her head from her nap and looks to see if someone is calling her.

“I can think of a few things, Mr. Grey,” I reply flirtatiously as he sets me down on the edge of the bed, but his expression darkens.

“You know what Crumfeld said. Three weeks. So, on November 7th, we’ll have a private celebration, but until then, you’re off-limits.”

I frown. “Christian, I can’t make it that long. It’s already been a month. This is torture.” He sighs and pulls me close.

“I know, baby, but I won’t put you at risk just so we can satisfy an itch.” I flop backwards on the bed and groan. Christian leans back so he’s lying on his side, propped up on his elbow, staring down at me. “Sorry.” He takes the tip of one finger and runs it slowly from my left shoulder along my collar bone, down into the dip at the base of my neck, over my other collar bone, to my right shoulder. It feels like he’s touching every inch of my skin. My breathing picks up and I arch my back automatically.

Holy shit! I should not have done that. Pain runs down my spine to my hip and I wince dramatically. Christian immediately pulls his hand away. “Ugh, I’m so sorry, Ana.”

How can it possibly be good for my health if they have to scrape me off the ceiling after I explode? I cover my eyes with my arms and sigh deeply. “Fucking Jack Hyde,” I whimper.

Christian immediately gets up and busies himself getting me ready for bed. He undresses me and redresses me, being careful not to touch my skin directly.

When I’m completely changed into my short green silk nightgown, he points to the bed. “Get in.” So bossy, Mr. Grey.

I slide onto my side of the bed and wait for him to get in. He looks down at me briefly, then mutters, “I have some work to do,” and marches out. I’m left cold and alone for the first time since

I woke up in the hospital and I just can’t hold it together.

Not wanting Christian to know just how much it hurts, I curl up as much as I can with my leg cast, and silently weep. The wine finally does its job and I fall asleep with my face still wet.  
￼

* * *

  
The next day, the apartment is buzzing with activity by the time I’ve hobbled into the great room. Security personnel are everywhere and I find myself dizzy from the activity of it all. I collapse on one of the stools at the breakfast bar and Mrs. Jones slides a steaming-hot plate of hash browns, scrambled eggs, rye toast, and apple sauce my direction. My mother, sitting next to me, places one of my pink horse pills next to my fork and pours me a tall glass of orange juice.

“Good morning, darling. Are you ready for our big outing?” She’s so chipper. I guess she’s already slept in three hours by her estimation, since she’s always been terrible adjusting to jet lag. 

I smile back and take my pill begrudgingly. Christian slides in to the chair on my other side, landing a sweet kiss on my cheek before digging into his egg white omelet.

“What’s with all the extra muscle?” I ask him, but he just takes a huge bit of omelet and chews. I stare him down, daring him to take another bite before answering my question. He swallows hard, and turns to face me.

“Are you sure you want to go by the house today? Wouldn’t you rather just stay here?”

He’s dodging the question. I know him better than to think this is innocent — he’s deliberately keeping something from me. “What happened?” I murmur.

He glances quickly at my mother. I get the hint. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want Carla to know. I excuse myself after a few minutes and ask Christian to help me get dressed.

I hobble back to the bedroom and he starts his routine of asking me what I’d like to wear today. Classic avoidance technique. I have absolutely no patience for this today.

“Alright, Grey. Spill it.”

He flops next to me on our bed and runs both hands through his hair. This can’t be good. “We’ve heard from Hyde.”

I feel my heart rate increase and my breathing shallows. The room feels like it’s rocking underneath me. It could be an earthquake, but Christian isn’t trying to get us under the door jamb, so

I figure it’s just me.

“When? How?” I whisper.

“We got a... Letter.”

“Well, what did it say?” I ask, breathless.

“That’s the thing,” Christian starts, unsure. “It only said one word — ‘Gotcha’.”

Creepy. “Okay, that’s sufficiently weird but what’s the big deal? Why all the security, Christian? How do we even know it was him?”

He exhales. “It was written on Dr. Greene’s stationery.”

Shit! Did I manage to drag poor Dr. Greene into this, too? How do I manage to destroy so many people’s lives around me? “Is she alright?” I’m panicking. This is not okay. I don’t know what I’ll do if another innocent person’s been hurt because of me.

Christian looks so frazzled. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it earlier. Has he been putting on a brave face for me all morning? It’s Sunday, the mail doesn’t get delivered today, so he must have known about this since at least yesterday. How long has he been like this?

“She’s fine. We’ve checked on her and everyone from her office is accounted for. No one has seen anyone fitting Jack’s description, either.”

Does that mean he’s been in her office when no one was there? Did he have access to my medical records? God, what does he know about me?

“Is it safe to keep my appointment Tuesday?” I ask. I was not looking forward to it anyway and now something feels off. Very off.

“That’s what I’ve been wondering, but I don’t have an answer. I just don’t know.” I can see fear in every part of my sweet Fifty’s body. His hands move frenetically, playing with the strap of my bra. His left leg is jumping up and down with no discernible rhythm. His face is creased and pale, his beard doing little to mask his utter terror. “I need to protect you but I don’t know that I can,” and he completely loses it. He puts his head in my lap and shakes as I smooth his hair over and over, kissing him gently on his temple until I can feel him begin to calm.

“Then we’ll reschedule the appointment. Simple,” I say.

His shaking stills slightly. “And today?”

I consider the risks. I am so completely ready to do something, go anywhere. All I’ve seen since that day are the hospital and our apartment. I want to go, but is it worth the risk?


End file.
